I voted for the first time on the 22nd May 1998, aged 19. Voting on a referendum – let alone one as historic as the Good Friday Agreement, was a hugely exciting and inspiring moment.

This week, twenty years since the GFA was signed, we’ve acknowledged (and some of us have celebrated) the work of Mo Mowlam, Trimble & Hume, George Mitchell et all. But it’s worth noting that rock n’ roll also played it’s part with a very special – and very noisy gig at The Waterfront Hall.

It’s hard to imagine now, but as that gig took place, just a few days before the actual vote, everything was up in the air. One Belfast Telegraph poll had everyone rattled. YES to NO was presented as 52 per cent to 20 per cent – with 25 per cent apparently undecided.

Crucially, we were also told that voting intentions amongst protestants were split in three almost equal parts – YES, NO and UNDECIDED. This was a huge concern for the yes campaign. The concern was that anything other than a decent majority from both sides of the community would surely jeopardise any potential assembly.

Up stepped – almost inevitably – Bono.

“We’re here to try to convince some of the people who have real concerns about the peace agreement to vote YES,” he told crowds gathered outside The Waterfront Hall, where U2 were set to appear at an almost spontaneous campaign gig. “To vote NO is to play into the hands of the extremists. Their day is over as far as we’re concerned. We’re on to the next century here.”

Bono was, of course, full of neat soundbites. This, in spite of a PR rep for the gig warning journalists not to ask him too many questions. ‘U2 are a rock band, not a political party’ he’d claimed, with misguided optimism. But it was actually the contribution of a band called Ash, featuring three young men from Downpatrick, who helped reassure the YES camp they about to get over the line.

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A few years back, myself and my then producer at the BBC – Paul McClean – made a documentary about this legendary night. We spoke to a number of people who were involved, learning how quick a plan can come together when the will is there. We were amazed at how promoter Eamonn McCann was able to turn a simple idea into a monumental gig with just a few days notice. That said and there was more than a few curious moments both in the build up to the gig – and during the gig itself, some of which threatened to derail the whole thing.

The first issue was one of balance. Even if they were the biggest band in the world, U2 alone would not be enough. Also, U2 were seen as – or assumed to be – nationalists. So enter a rather bewildered Ash – then barely out of their teens and a band who’d deliberately set out to avoid political messages in any of their songs. Instead the Downpatrick trio saw music as escapism from what they’d experienced growing up in Northern Ireland. At the same time, armed with a number one album, they were – in Tim Wheeler’s words ‘a symbol of positivity’. They were also, for those who cared, prods from the North.

What people at the time didn’t know, however, was that The Corrs were in touch offering their own services, keen to become involved in what was set to be a day to remember. A huge prospect at the time, the inclusion of The Corrs on the bill would, it was concluded, upset the balance a little. So organisers politely declined.

There was also some bizarre exchanges between the two bands who would play – as they worked out which songs to perform. Alarmingly, U2 proposed covering a song made famous by Rolf Harris, pitching that ‘Two Little Boys’ might be a suitable soundtrack for a Trimble and Hume handshake. Tim Wheeler even found Bono’s subsequent suggestion of ‘Give Peace a Chance’ a little too on the nose. Eventually the settled on ‘Don’t Let Me Down’.

The problems continued onstage and Tim and Rik from Ash admitted at the time that performances from both bands were – all things considered – actually quite poor. U2, used to playing precision shows in the biggest venues imaginable were using borrowed gear at The Waterfront – and neither bands had a chance to rehearse.

But of course, none of that mattered. What mattered was the audience of teenage school children, who played an important part in the narrative. What mattered was the press conferences – one in particular seeing David Trimble humanised a little, as he discussed his love for Elvis, as Tim Wheeler looked on, giggling.

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Then there was that photo. Bono had convinced Trimble and Hume to do something ‘very hard for politicians’ – they would not actually speak onstage. Instead of a potentially clumsy address, it was a simple handshake which was seen around the world.

Ash’s Tim Wheeler recently explained to the BBC’s Jayne McCormick why they agreed to play. “Back then, coming to Belfast always felt very edgy. I do remember I was up in Belfast and saw a policeman had just been shot and was being covered in a body bag. The Army was everywhere, of course, and always bomb threats and incidents in our town. Being children you just get on with it and think it’s normal. And when we started travelling the world you realise it was a very different place to grow up.”

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We all know what happened next. We voted YES – and have enjoyed two decades of relative peace as a result. But not much more than that, as politics has – once again – stalled. Think about those key players – Hume, Trimble et all. Imagine them in May 1998 after the vote, somehow being able to fast forward twenty years and check the state of play in Northern Ireland today. They’d be very dismayed indeed. “It’s a sad situation” Tim reasoned. “But at least we’re living in a time that’s a lot more peaceful”.

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In the last two and a bit decades, we’ve seen U2 in a giant lemon in Botanic Gardens. More recently, flanked by the biggest screen in the world, playing the SSE Arena. We’ve seen Ash mature from Guaranteed Real Teenagers (as the stickers read on those early releases) into stalwarts of the scene – with another monumental show coming up in the form of a mainstage appearance at The Biggest Weekend next month. Impressive stuff, for sure.

But for me, these guys were at their best stumbling through an under rehearsed set to a small room of screaming school kids, on one sunny afternoon, back in May ’98.